Romantic Fluff
by Jenksel
Summary: The title says it all: A handful of fluffy Casskins fics for Valentine's Day!
1. Fluffy Sweater

Jenkins smiled warmly at Cassandra as he passed her desk and disappeared into the hallway. She silently returned his smile as she watched him pass, then refocused her attention back onto her work.

The Librarian was seated at her desk, several ancient manuscript treatises on astrological magic in various languages were open and scattered over its surface. As she struggled to decipher the faint, spidery handwriting on the page in front of her, Cassandra unconsciously shivered, and again rubbed her bare arms briskly. It was chilly in the workroom today, and she chided herself for the umpteenth time for not wearing something with sleeves.

"Cassandra?" She jumped slightly at the soft sound of her husband's voice, and her red head snapped up to find him suddenly standing in front of her desk, a soft, thick cardigan of Christmas green with tiny silver and gold snowflakes embroidered on it draped carefully over one arm.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you, my love, but I thought that you might like a sweater?" He moved around the end of the desk to stand behind her, and held the cardigan open for her. Cassandra stood and gratefully slipped her goose-fleshed arms into the warm sleeves.

"Oh, thank you, Jenkins, that was so sweet of you!" she said, then turned and stood on her toes to kiss his soft lips. The Caretaker beamed proudly and chivalrously pushed her chair in for her as she reseated herself, then went back to his desk to resume his own work.


	2. Farewell

"Come _on_, Cassie, let's _go_!" hollered Jacob as the Back Door swung open. Eve and Ezekiel stood next to him, impatiently waiting for the last member of their party to join them. "The current astronomical positions depicted in those ancient Mongolian petroglyphs ain't gonna calculate themselves, you know!"

"Coming! Coming!" the redhead sang as she ran across the workroom as fast as she could. Eve began ushering the boys through the doorway.

"OH!" Cassandra squeaked, skittering to a stop just as she was about to pass though the magic door. She immediately turned and rushed over to Jenkins's desk. "I almost forgot!"

"Aw, come _on_, Cassandra! We have to go _now_!" complained Ezekiel, but Cassandra ignored him. She hurried around the desk to where her husband stood somberly, and quickly kissed his cheek.

"Bye, sweetheart, I'll see you later!" she chirped, smiling brightly, though her blue eyes held a hint of sadness at their parting. The Caretaker returned her smile and fondly stroked her silky cheek before kissing the back of her hand. He let go of her reluctantly, then watched her as she ran back to the doorway.

"Be safe!" he called after her anxiously. "I love you!"

"I love you, too, sweetie!" She disappeared through the Back Door.

Ezekiel rolled his eyes and stuck his finger into his mouth to mimic gagging as he followed the mathemagician through the door.

Eve smiled at the touching little scene she'd just witnessed.

"Don't worry, Skip, I'll keep her safe for you," she said. Jenkins ran a nervous hand down his chest and stomach.

"See to it that you do, Colonel," he replied, a slight threat in his voice as his eyes narrowed.

Eve winked conspiratorially and grinned at Jenkins, then disappeared through the door.


	3. Rose Red

The young Librarian carefully balanced one delicate china cup full of hot tea on its saucer in one hand and a plate of cookies in her other hand as she slowly carried them from the kitchen to the workroom. The dishes were from Jenkins's favorite set of blue willow-patterned china; she had hoped that using it would help ease the loneliness she felt, like she still had at least a _tiny_ piece of him with her. But it actually had the opposite effect and only made her miss him even more.

Her husband was gone on a solo mission, a rarity for him. He'd had to leave very early this morning for a private auction in Paris that was selling some very rare—and very dangerous—Renaissance grimoires, and Jenkins, gentleman that he was, had been careful not to wake her when he got up. He'd only been gone a few hours now and wouldn't be back for at least a week, and she already missed him terribly. She hated to be separated from him for too long, and was especially sad about it now—it would've been their first Valentine's Day together as a married couple. But such was the life of a Librarian, she supposed, and the sacrifices that life required was something she would just have to get used to.

As she carried the tea and cookies to her desk, Cassandra was pleasantly surprised to see a tall, delicate vase on her desk, containing a single, absolutely flawless red rose. She smiled even as tears stung her eyes; it was just like her husband to leave her some small gift to console her. It was one of his most endearing qualities.

As Cassandra set down her tea, her nose caught the sweet, heavenly scent of the nearly full-blown bloom, its petals of such a rich, deep red that it looked like it was made of thick velvet. The Librarian buried her nose in the bloom and breathed deeply, the perfume heady and lush. She smiled again when she saw the small card propped at the base of the vase, her name inscribed on it in the familiar, flowing script of Jenkins's handwriting.

Her heart aching a little, she picked up the envelope and opened it, pulled out the small card inside. Tears blurred her vision and her heart nearly burst with love as she read her husband's words.

_I left this beautiful rose to remind you of me while I'm gone, but now I fear it will instantly wilt in shame at the sight of __your__ beauty! Until later, my love-Galahad_


	4. Welcome Home

"The book or death, Librarian—_choose_!"

The tall, elegantly-dressed man with a thick thatch of silver-white hair whirled around at the sound of the French-speaking voice behind him. The Parisian alley was dark and isolated, but his sharp brown eyes could still make out the half a dozen figures completely swathed in black from head to toe. Each shadowy man had a katana drawn and ready.

_Really? Katanas?_ he thought as he rolled his eyes. _Do they not even MAKE any other kinds of swords anymore?_ The magic portal back to the Annex was further down the alley, too far away for him to make a run for it, so the tall man placed his hand on his chest, gave his opponents a tiny bow, and lied through his teeth.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, gentlemen," he said amiably in flawless French. "I am _not_ a librarian, nor am I in possession of any books."

Which _was_ technically true. _The Summoning of Phenex_ wasn't a book, per se; it was really no more than a handful of asymmetrical scraps of dirty parchment, each page covered with scrawling Latin and quickly sketched diagrams and sigils, the whole hastily stitched together to form what could only be described as a messy pamphlet. But that messy pamphlet contained the only known fully-recorded ritual for the summoning of Phenex, a demon of great power who commanded an army of twenty legions of lesser demons and who a master of all sciences and poetry. Once summoned, however, Phenex had a nasty habit of turning the tables on the ones who summoned him, enchanting his conjuror with a sweet, irresistible song just before literally turning the poor sod inside-out, then seizing the opportunity to wreak all sorts of havoc. The last time Phenex had been successfully summoned, in 1871, most of Chicago had burned to the ground.

"You lie!" snapped a seventh figure, hidden until now in the back of the group. He was also dressed all in black, and he was of slighter build than his companions. Clearly this was the "brains" directing all of this "brawn".

"You were at the auction! You bid on the Summoning and you won!" the smaller shadow snarled impatiently. "You have it in your possession; give it to me this instant, and I will let you live. Refuse, and you will die!" The tall man sighed audibly, his broad shoulders slumping.

"Listen to me very carefully," he ordered, his tone not nearly as amiable now as he dropped all pretenses. "I have been away from home for five days now—five _very_ long, dreary, miserable days, waiting for this infernal ritual to come up for bidding. That's _five_ precious days that I have had to spend away from my beautiful wife, a woman who I love more than my own life. _Five days_ that I've had to spend apart from the one who gives my life its only purpose and meaning. She is ALL I've thought of and yearned for this past week—and _you_ are now the only things standing between her tender, loving embrace and myself." Even in the darkness his eyes somehow found and burned into each of the would-be thieves as he spoke.

"And that, gentleman, is a _very_ bad place for you to be."

The henchmen stared at the old man in disbelief for a few seconds, then the leader burst into mocking laughter, followed hesitantly by the others.

"_Vive la femme_, ah?" the group's leader said. "As a true Frenchman, I can sympathize, believe me! It is a sad thing to be separated from the woman you love, especially if she is beautiful! But I have the solution to your problem, Monsieur Carsen: Give me the Summoning right now, and you will be free to return to your beautiful wife. Otherwise..." The man shrugged and then drew a finger across his throat.

"It would be a pity to make her a widow over something so petty, no? _Especially_ on the eve of St. Valentine's Day. Tsk, tsk, tsk!" As the leader stepped forward and reached out his hand, the white-haired man raised his chin and glared imperiously down his nose.

"I told you, I am _not_ a Librarian," he said coldly. "I am _not_ Flynn Carsen. My name is Jenkins, and I am _not_ in the mood to put up with this nonsense any further!"

Jenkins grabbed the smaller man's outstretched hand and jerked him roughly forward, nearly lifting him off his feet. As the man lost his balance and tripped forward, the immortal quickly adjusted his iron grip on his opponent's wrist and spun him around, pulling the surprised man's arm backward and twisting it upward sharply. The man screamed in pain as his arm audibly snapped like a twig.

Jenkins shoved the whimpering leader into the group of momentarily stunned henchman. It bought him just enough time to reach behind his back and draw a long, medieval-looking blade of his own from its sheath attached to his belt and hidden by his overcoat. The Caretaker drew himself up to his full height and swept the group with a glance, assessing his attackers individually and as a whole with a well-trained warrior's eye. They were just hesitant enough to tell him that they were unsure, i.e. unseasoned. He figured it would take him less than ten minutes to either scare them off or dispatch them. Either way, it meant ten more minutes away from Cassandra. Ten minutes with her that he would never get back, thanks to these bumbling morons, and that thought made Jenkins angry.

Without even thinking, he let loose the war-cry he used to give in ancient times when he rode into battle, chilling the blood of the over-cautious henchman, and then plunged into their midst, the heavy blade of his ancient dagger biting greedily into the flesh of his enemies, causing them to scatter like chaff in the wind, screaming as they ran away.

* * *

Cassandra Cillian Jenkins awoke early, her sleep disturbed by a soft snoring sound coming from behind her. As the fog of sleep cleared, the young Librarian became aware of a large, warm mass against her back, and a heavy weight draped over her waist. Cassandra's heart skipped several beats as she froze, her body stiffening, a cold feeling of fear in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she carefully rolled herself over just enough to allow her to turn her head and take a wide-eyed look behind her. When she was finally able to make out what it was in the dim dawn light, she immediately began screaming.

"JENKINS!" she shrieked, the fear in her pounding heart replaced now by joy. "You're back!"

She threw herself onto the large body of her husband, hugging him tightly and showering his face with kisses, startling the sleeping man awake.

"What...?!" he blurted, rolling over onto his back, eyes bleary with sleep. "Cassandra! What's is it?!" His wife bounced up and down happily on the bed next to him.

"You're _back_!" she squealed excitedly again. "You came back early—and just in time for Valentine's Day!" She threw herself onto him again, straddling him this time as she hugged him tightly.

"_When_ did you get back? Why didn't you wake me up? Did you get the book you were looking for? Is…?" She peppered him with questions until he could finally get a word in edgewise.

"I arrived back here just after three o'clock in the morning; I didn't want to disturb your sleep, so I just slipped into bed. I almost decided to sleep in the lab—"

"Don't you _ever_ do that!" she warned him sharply, a comically exaggerated look of consternation on her lovely face. Jenkins held his arms open, and the Librarian instantly snuggled into them against his chest with a sigh of happiness.

"I missed you!" she murmured sincerely, and her husband hugged her comfortingly.

"And I, you, my love," he replied, kissing her head through her soft, mussed hair. "The entire time I was away I was counting the hours until I could return!"

Cassandra wriggled happily against her husband's long body, relishing the warmth and the feeling of security she always had when they were together. She closed her eyes and began drifting off to sleep again as she listened to his heart beating.

"Okay, so…Is that all, then?" Jenkins rumbled after a few minutes of silence, pulling the Librarian back from the edge of sleep.

"Huh?" she mumbled drowsily, turning her head slightly towards him.

"Is that all?" he repeated, his tone one of disappointment. "'I missed you'? Is that _all_ the welcome home I get after being gone for nearly a week, risking life and limb to ensure the safety of the entire world?"

His wife sat up and looked askance at him in the faint morning light.

"You went to an auction! In _Paris_! You literally stayed at the fanciest hotel in the city!" she said derisively. "How is _that_ risking life and limb?" Jenkins raised his silvery head on the pillow.

"Humpf!" he sniffed in exaggerated offense. "You, my dear, have clearly never been to an auction of rare Seventeenth Century grimoires. The bidding was positively savage! And as if that wasn't bad enough, the crepes that I had for dessert one evening were tough and rubbery— _appallingly_ overcooked for a Michelin-rated restaurant!"

"How shocking!" the young redhead gasped dramatically. "So how many helpings did you end up having?" Jenkins crinkled his large nose in disgust.

"Only two. That's all I could manage to choke down of the vile stuff!" Cassandra's giggles exploded into laughter. She burrowed happily again into his strong arms, her small hand sliding up and around to run its fingers through the silvery hair at his temple.

"Poor baby!" she cooed. "And here I am, shortchanging you on a proper welcome home!" The immortal smiled as he pulled her close, one large, callused hand sliding slowly over the delicate curves of her waist, hip and down her thigh.

"Indeed," he rumbled, his voice suddenly low and seductive, his bright eyes taking on a feral glint. "After so much time apart, I was actually hoping for something a bit more…_demonstrative_?"

Cassandra tilted her small face up and wound her arms around his neck, smiling as she gave him a bold, adoring gaze.

"Oh, _absolutely_, my dear!" she purred, playfully mimicking her husband, then silenced any further complaints that he may have had with a slow, deep, passion-filled kiss.


End file.
